


If you want a partner (take my hand)

by Malapropian



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Age Difference, Alive Hale Family, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Werewolves Are Known, Arranged Marriage, Canonical Character Death, Epistolary, Explicit material begins in chapter 3, Fluff, Love Letters, M/M, May December Romance, More tags to be added, Poetry, Tiny Mate Stiles, Underage Kissing, psuedo medieval fantasy setting
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-12-22
Updated: 2015-11-27
Packaged: 2018-03-02 18:09:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,291
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2821445
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Malapropian/pseuds/Malapropian
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Peter is fifteen years old when he is offered up to solidify the Hale-Stilinski alliance. He’ll need to wait sixteen more before his promised will be of an age to wed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Adictedtobadguys56](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Adictedtobadguys56/gifts).



> Hello, Secret Santa recipient! This is... this is probably not what you wanted, but I had an idea and went with it. I hope you enjoy it anyway. ^_^
> 
> Many thanks to [Elpie](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Horribibble/pseuds/Elpie) and [Val](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Valylene) for reading, encouraging, and fixing some of my typos. This would not exist without you two.
> 
> The title is from ["I'm Your Man" by Leonard Cohen.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iW8rFho6In8)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter waits for Stiles to grow up.

 

“Come now, Peter. This is your betrothed: Kazimierz of the noble House Stilinski.” Without further ceremony, Aurelia of House Hale thrusts a wriggling bundle into his reluctant arms.

Despite the abrupt delivery, Peter carefully clasps the heavily swaddled infant to his chest and supports the fragile neck as he was hastily taught in the minutes before this meeting. Kazimierz is only a few months old; the human child is too soft, too loud, and too _other_ for Peter to be wholly comfortable handling him. He can’t truthfully say that he’s impressed with his betrothed.

“He seems to have strong lungs,” Peter comments diplomatically.

“A very good sign,” approves his mother, Aurelia. “Why, it seems like just yesterday that I was bringing my Peter into the world. Ferocious and squalling like a proper young wolf - he took to the tit without any coaxing. Much like your boy, Kazimierz.”

“The family has already decided to call him Stiles after his namesake - Kazimierz is a big name for such a small boy,” Claudia confides with a laugh. “But yes! He’s ravenous nearly every hour. I thank the gods that babies are born toothless. He gums me something fierce already. I expect he’ll try to bite clean through me when his milk teeth come in.

Peter does not understand why she sounds so proud at the prospect of a toddler chewing holes into her bosoms. He suspects temporary insanity brought on by childbirth, since he recalls similar behavior from Talia. Except Talia had a real risk of losing tender bits to the uncontrolled fangs of a tiny wolf cub.

He ignores the chatter of their mothers, and runs a finger across a downy, infant cheek. Peter leans close to breathe in the scent of his future mate and mutters with growing fondness, “I don’t care if you don’t have fangs. No biting your betrothed. Not until you’re old enough for it to be fun for all parties involved.”

 

* * *

 

He’s eighteen and still not sure what to do with a toddler hanging on to his coattails. No, literally, the kid won’t let go of him. Since learning to walk at eight months old, Stiles has expressed a marked preference for spending his waking hours clinging to Peter and making sweaty, starfish-shaped wrinkles in his clothing. The toddler is happiest when forcing his fiancee cum caretaker to drag him along as a child-shaped barnacle.

His promised mate is still not very interesting or impressive, but he’s _sweet_ and a precocious, if straightforward, stalker. He also seems to think that he owns Peter and has a right to constant contact and endless piggy back rides. Peter’s not sure what sort of stories Stiles has been told during his brief absences, but it’s clear that the boy worships his wolf. He watches Peter’s every move with unblinking, amber eyes, as though he believes Peter might do something particularly heroic or dashing.

As much as his family and pack love him, no one offers such simple, unconditional love. He can feel a warm twitching in his chest. He isn’t sure what to call that feeling, but his mother claims it’s only his heart.

Peter thinks of how easily he could be this human boy’s willing slave in the coming years - how he’s _already_ been thoroughly owned since he scented the newborn and accepted his fate. It’s a thought that doesn’t fill him with complete horror.

 

* * *

 

“Peter’s home! Peter! Peter! Peter!” came the bird-like shrieks of his tiny almost-mate. “You’re really here!”

The shrieking intensifies when Peter grips his arms and spins him around in dizzying circles. Breathless from laughter, Stiles clutches at Peter’s riding leathers and rubs his small face against the man’s stubbled neck.

“You were gone a long time! Did you bring me a present?”

Peter clucks at his young intended. “Those are hardly the manners befitting a scion of House Stilinski. Do your parents need to curtail your time with Scott?”

“No, Peter! I’ve been good. I just wanted to know since you _did_ miss my nameday. I’m six years, two weeks, and three days old!” exclaims Stiles with a gap-toothed grin.

“Four days,” corrects Peter automatically. “Do we need to review maths as well as manners?”

“Eww. No! You were more fun when you lived here all the time. After we’re married you have to promise to be fun again!”

“Of course, little lord. For you, I will be the most interesting man in all of the Territories.” He smirks before hefting the slight figure onto his shoulders. “Will you forgive me for being so deadly dull if we go riding?”

“After presents?”

“Yes, Stiles. After presents.”

Stiles cheers the entire way to the stables. Somehow Peter can’t find it in himself to mind the small hands wrenching at his carefully coiffed hair.

 

* * *

 

_Dear Peter,_

_I miss you. No one else helps me sneak to the kitchens for sweets when you’re away. Scott is very bad at it. I made him upset when I said that, and he had a breathing fit. Mama and Healer McCall said it was my fault, but it **wasn’t**._

_I wish you didn’t need to be at The Hills to do wolf things. You can do wolf things here. I wouldn’t mind. I’m sure I can convince Da, too._

_Will you come to my nameday? I’ll be SEVEN. Mama promised I could have a cake with sugar wolves! Jackson would have hated it, but he’s GONE now. Da thinks he’d be better off fostered with the Mahealanis. I’m glad he’s gone, but I’m not glad he gets to foster with his best friend’s House because Jackson is my SWORN ENEMY. Mama said that I should have been nicer, but Jackson was mean to Scott about his fits AND he likes snakes better than wolves._

_Wolves are much better than snakes. You’re the best wolf, Peter! I hope one of my wolves looks like you. I won’t eat it if it does. I’ll keep it for your next visit._

_Love,_  
_Stiles Kazimierz Stilinski, your mate_

_P.S. I hope you like my drawings. I made a protection charm, too. Scott said it looks like Derek’s eyebrows in a wobbly circle, but Scott doesn’t understand magic. One day I’ll be powerful like you, and everyone will sing songs about us even Jackson and then he’ll eat crow pie. Why would that make him choke on pie?? Why are there birds in it? If I give him a crow now will he be nicer? What about any kind of pie? He doesn’t like apple. Will that work too???_

_P.S. 2. Master Finstock checked my spelling for the letter but not the P.S. 1 or 2. He said hi. He also said I should stop asking so many questions, but you always answer them!!!!!!!! I think I should be allowed to use as many exclamations as I want, but he made me take them out. Master Finstock told me not to be obnokshius but nevermind because you deserve me. I think you do, too because you’re very nice. You’re my **favorite**._

_Love,_  
_Stiles again._

* * *

 

_Stiles,_

_I miss you, too. Maybe you should sneak there by yourself? Perhaps train Scott to be a better partner for your clandestine activities? Of course, his fits aren’t your fault, but you should be careful if you choose to involve him on your adventures… or chastise him for his failures on said adventures._

_I’m sorry, but I’m afraid that it’s part of my responsibility as a Hale to do “wolf things” at the Hills. It is, after all, where our family name originated. Once we are wed, I’ll be free to do “wolf things” in Beacon. No need to ask your father - he already knows._

_Of course, I wouldn’t miss your nameday. You are my betrothed, and it is my honor to celebrate with you. Jackson was a sanctimonious little prick, but you didn’t hear that from me. The reason your House was a poor fit for him is because he was required to do honest work. Never be afraid of honest work, Stiles; but never be afraid to convince someone else to do it for you._

_I’m pleased that you prefer wolves to snakes considering our future relationship. Do let me know if you officially declare him your sworn enemy. If so, I shall be certain that no Whittemore passes unmolested through Hillshire. It’s the least I can do for my dear, future husband._

_As I will be with you for your nameday, there's no need to save me anything. I look forward to the sugar wolves and comparing them to my wolf form. I expect a close likeness if they're anything like your drawings. I always enjoy your drawings, and I shall treasure this charm. There is a marked resemblance to my dear nephew’s eyebrows; I will bring this to his attention as soon as possible. Please, don’t listen to Scott about magic. Please do listen to Master Deaton._

_Eating crow or humble pie are figures of speech which both mean to apologize or admit to being wrong after facing severe humiliation for an error or errors. There is no actual pie or food involved. No, apple pie will not have the same effect._

_Thank Master Finstock for his help on your spelling and grammar. You did very well. Please remind him that he may want to watch what he says around you, as I will not tolerate others making such disparaging remarks about our relationship to you. That word is spelled “obnoxious”, and does not describe you in the slightest. Continue practicing your penmanship and spelling. I will return home shortly after you receive this reply._

_Always,_  
_Peter_

 

* * *

_Peter,_

_Please refrain from calling anyone else a sanctimonious prick - little or otherwise - in your correspondence with my son._

_Thank you,_  
_Claudia_

_P.S. Stiles sends his love and this charm - the braid is made from his hair. Be kind, or Aurelia will hear of it from me._

* * *

 

 

_Claudia,_

_I’ll be sure to avoid it where you can hear or see the offending words._

_When have I ever been unkind to Stiles? I would never, and you know it._

_Your future son by law,_  
_Peter_

 

* * *

 

_Stiles,_

_I’m sorry that I’ll be unable to attend your nameday festivities this year. Regrettably, my business in Silverwood has taken an annoying turn, but I hope that soon young Derek will be equal to the task._

_It’s not every day that a boy turns eight, and I have made arrangements with your parents for you to receive your gift on the proper day. I would have liked to see your face upon delivery, but there is always next year._

_Always,_  
_Peter_

* * *

 

 

_Dear Peter,_

_Thank you for my nameday present!!! She’s perfect! How did you convince them to let me have my own hawk? I love her, and her name is Petra because she’s from you and hatched from the Hale mews. Da said that I can begin learning how to take care of her tomorrow, but most of the time she’ll be with Adrian. He's our new falconer. He’s very proud that the Harris Hawk is named for his great grandfather, and he tells me stories sometimes when I’m in the mews._

_I miss you a lot. I’m sorry that you had to be at Silverwood instead of here. Scott said he would have traded places with you because he wants to grow up to marry Allison. So I told Scott he would get no cake because he’s supposed to be my best friend who is also my age. This is why you’re my BEST best friend and why we’re getting married. Eight years is a long time to wait. Are you sure it can’t be sooner? Petra can even be our first daughter._

_Love,_  
_Stiles Hale-Stilinski?_  
_Stiles Stilinski-Hale?_  
_Stiles Haleinski?_  
_Stiles Stilinskhale??_  
_~~Stiles Stale~~_  
_Stiles St. Ilhalinski???_

_P.S. Do you like any of those? I asked Master Finstock, but he said that they’re all equally lovely and I should ask my betrothed for advice (that’s you Peter!). He’s a little bit odd. He looked like he’d eaten a wormy apple when he said that._

_I hope you like the drawing I made of me and Petra and wolf-you._

* * *

 

_Stiles,_

_I’m pleased you enjoyed your surprise. I know that you’ll be wonderful with Petra, which is a fine name. Soon, I’ll be home again; a few days from the time you receive this letter, and you won’t need to turn to Master Harris for company or entertainment._

_My mother said that she mated her closest friend, and your parents expressed the same sentiment. Best friends seem to make the most pleasant marriages, and I’m glad to be yours._

_No, Stiles. It can’t be any sooner. There are traditions at play here - not to mention the law - but the years will pass before you know it. Petra’s our firstborn daughter? Why, Stiles Stilinski, are you suggesting that we’ve already had a child? Think of what people will say! The neighboring Territories will be scandalised when they hear a werewolf and a human have a hawk for a daughter - and out of wedlock. I’ll be sure to inform my mother of the happy news that Talia isn’t the only one to have given her grandchildren._

_Yours,_  
_Peter_

_P.S. We’d best go with Peter Stilinski. That’s what the agreement says. I appreciate the time and creativity you put into considering your married name. Please thank Master Finstock for his effort. He should understand what I mean._

 

* * *

 

_Dear Peter,_

_I miss you. You haven't been to Beacon in months. That’s the longest you’ve been away from home since I was too young to remember!!! Da said you are very busy with Important Family Matters and that I should give you my support and understanding as your future husband because that’s how you have a good marriage. He also said that I shouldn’t be too disappointed if you can’t be here for my nameday, but I will be a little disappointed. I hope you don’t think that I'm selfish._

_Scott said that the Hales have declared against the Argents, and I can’t marry you now but I don’t care. When I’m older I’ll make sure no Argents come through Beacon without meeting the highwaymen. Jackson told Danny who told Lydia who told me that you don’t want to marry me anymore and that’s why you’ve been gone for so long. I know that isn’t true because you promised me. You said that wolves mate for life, and I’m the one for you. I just have to get older. I hope you don’t make me wait until I’m 16 because that’s a long time. A whole 7 years!!!_

_I think Petra misses you. She’s been moody the last few times I took her out. Mama was there, and she seemed rather upset at Petra for scratching me. She's been rather tired and out of sorts for the last few months. She doesn’t do the voices anymore when she reads books to me at night. Maybe it’s like what happened to Laura when she was expecting a baby? I’ve always wanted a younger brother or sister. Do you think that we’ll have a lot of children? I never thought of it before, but it might be nice to have more than one so they’ll have company? I always had you and Scott, so I was never lonely. ~~Not until now.~~_

_I love you,_  
_Stiles_

* * *

 

 

_Dear Peter,_

_I miss you. I wish you could have been here for my party, but I understand. Da told me about what Kate Argent did to Derek. If it makes you feel better, then I won’t be friends with Scott again until he stops saying he loves Allison. Everyone is very angry and tense, and no one tells me what’s happening now that you’re gone._

_There are a lot of healers around Mother lately. She is skinnier and skinnier now, so I don’t think I should be expecting a new brother or sister. Aren’t pregnant people meant to gain weight?_

_When we were visiting the Mahealanis, Jackson said that she’s dying, so I punched him in the face. He fell down the stairs and broke his arm, and everyone yelled at him instead of me. Maybe they’re finally seeing that Jackson is awful and mean and that thing I’m not allowed to call him._

_I hope that you and your family are well and that you smite the Argents._

_Love,_  
_Stiles_

* * *

 

_Peter,_

_I apologize for wasting your time during your family’s crisis. I won’t bother you again until you reply._

_Please be safe._

_Until then,_  
_Kazimierz Stiles Stilinski_

* * *

 

_Peter,_

_Please return to Beacon as soon as possible. Claudia is very ill._

_You haven’t answered any of Stiles’ letters in months. Stiles is inconsolable. I sympathize with the Argent situation, but your future mate needs you more than your sister and her adult children._

_Respectfully,_  
_John Stilinski_

 

* * *

 

It’s the first time in months that Peter has seen his family estate. He’s been travelling between Hillshire and Silverwood trying to help Talia have the marriage between Kate and Derek annulled, when all he wants is to be home with his boy. At the ripe, old age of 25 he’s positively domestic; but he _misses_ Stiles and hasn’t seen one of his newsy, stream-of-consciousness letters in six months.

Peter doesn’t bother to restrain a frown at the thought. On top of the cock up with the Argents, he can’t stop the lack of communication from preying on his mind. It’s wholly unlike his Stiles - he’s written to Peter during all of his absences, even the ones lasting less than a week. He’s _never_ allowed some pique or grudge or distraction to stop him before.

Sighing now, he pushes open the door to the familiar interior of his childhood room. Though comforting after travel and time spent in an enemy’s lands, he still wishes for the warm wooden paneling and gleaming brasswork of his quarters back in Beacon instead of the grey stone and colorful, wool tapestries of a traditional Hillshire household. He can’t _see_ any signs of his long absence, but there is a stale scent from lack of use. The faintest whiff of old dust that airing out can’t quite change; it's inescapable, really.

The vacant spot on the desk, specifically reserved for his post, is damning. Peter’s managed to convince himself that his family was holding Stiles’ letters for him, but _no letters at all_ is a situation for which he's prepared no contingencies.

He isn’t left to wonder any longer as a servant, unknown to him, knocks on his door and enters peremptorily. “My lord, I’ve had charge over your mail until your return. This should be all of it.”

“Why were these never sent on to Silverwood?” Peter scowls.

“I beg pardon, your lordship… I was given instructions to place these in safe-keeping as they are mostly from your betrothed. I-I’ve recently taken over this position,” he stammers.

“There’s no help for it now,” he sighs, “but, in the future, please direct all letters to my location as soon as they arrive here. _In particular,_ if they're from any of House Stilinski.”

“Of course, my lord,” assures the servant before he flees in the face of Peter's displeasure.

Peter verifies the order of letters and briefly ponders opening John’s first before indulging himself by reading Stiles’ first. It’s easy to settle on his boyhood bed like this. Stiles’ letters are always so vibrant - so unmistakably _Stiles -_ that it’s almost as though he can hear his high piping voice, but the smile fades as Peter progresses through the stack. Before he even reaches that last, impersonal note from the boy, he’s quietly furious with himself and the situation. John’s message is the last straw. Although he’s only just arrived at Hale House, it’s time to go home.

His mate needs him.

It’s late evening by the time he arrives in Beacon, and when he finds Stiles, the boy is sitting in the mews talking to Petra and crying. Seeing and hearing him cry is intolerable. If Peter himself were not the cause, then he’d want to mutilate someone for this affront. Instead, he surges forward to wrap his arms around the thin, trembling body. In relief, he buries his nose in the mingled scents of hawk, hay, salt, and _Stiles_.

“My apologies, but I failed to receive your messages. It shall not be repeated. I assure you.”

“Peter?” Stiles whispers in a small choked voice. The disbelief is painfully clear to his enhanced ears.

“I’m here now, little lord. I won’t be leaving again until you say I can,” he soothes and gently turns the boy around to face his chest. “Shh, now Stiles. Cry if you must. I have you safe.” With a sharp, little wail, he flings his arms around Peter and sobs.

“I thought you were gone forever,” Stiles hiccups against his chest. “That you were never coming home again. I thought you were _gone_.”

Stiles cries himself into an exhausted slumber, nestled in the arms of the wolf; afterwards, Peter carries his precious burden through the manor and to his own rooms. He wants to thoroughly re-establish the scent of his mate on the bed that’s lain empty for half a year.

The next morning, he slowly awakens and snuffles into the soft warmth of Stiles’ neck while covering the smaller body with his bulk. Peter knows that soon they will need to talk about the unanswered letters, talk to John, and see Claudia. Stiles will very likely cry more than once before it’s all over; but this time, Peter is where he’s meant to be.

 

* * *

 

Their hands are clasped together as Stiles gazes blank eyed at the statue of Claudia that had been chosen to guard her tomb. Finally, Stiles drops his eyes and turns his face into Peter’s side.

“I don’t want to be called Stiles anymore,” his muffled voice confesses. “She--she kept saying my name and calling for me, but they wouldn’t let me see her. I wake up in the night hearing her scream that name.”

Peter cups his nape with a large, warm palm. “What would you like us to call you, little lord?”

He lifts his face from its hiding place to dart a glance up at the man’s face then licks his lips nervously. “Kazimierz or Kaz,” he announces firmly. “I already told Da, and he understands.”

“I will make the best attempt to call you Kaz from now on, but will you forgive me if I make the occasional slip of the tongue?”

Stiles hides his face again before whispering in a voice barely detectable to wolfish ears. “I’ll always be Stiles for you, Peter. You can call me anything you want.”

 

* * *

 

_Dear Peter,_

_Please don’t laugh at me for writing to you while you’re living in the same home again. It’s only that it’s harder to talk since she died._

_I know that you worry about me. I heard you talking to Da about it, and then you threatened Scott with " dire consequences" if he should upset me in my “delicate state”. Thanks for that, Peter… In case you can’t tell, in writing, those thanks were not sincere. Please stop treating me like I’ll stop talking and eating and need to be thrown into the tub if you want me to bathe. That hasn’t been true for MONTHS, but you and Da won’t stop worrying._

_Don’t think for a moment that I haven’t noticed how much Da drinks when he thinks that I’ve gone to sleep for the night. He should know how much they talk in the kitchen. I’m only eleven, so I’m trusting you to help me take care of Da because you’re an adult and don’t have to be in bed as early as I do._

_I can’t lose my Da. I know you would be here to help and run the estate for me, but I’m not ready to be Lord Stilinski. I would make a hash of taking care of the Territory, and then they would haunt me for destroying the legacy of our House._

_Maybe you can convince Da to drink tea instead? Do you think that tea and whiskey would taste good together?_

_Love,_  
_Stiles, but only for you_

 

John sighs and presses the heels of his palms into his eyes after reading Stiles’ letter to Peter. The wolf maintains a neutral expression and says, “Your son is very concerned about your continued well-being, Sir. Perhaps you’d like to take those concerns into consideration before you destroy your health and relationship with your only child?”

“Is this why you’ve been interrupting my nightcap with chamomile tea?”

The smirk he gives John can only be described as wolfish. “Fulfilling my mate’s wishes is of the utmost importance to me. He requested that I take care of his father, and I will. I will drag you kicking and screaming into rosy cheeked health and happiness regardless of your personal desires to pickle yourself into an early grave.” Here Peter drops the flippancy. “John. You know very well that Claudia would be infuriated to know how you’ve fared. Don’t dishonor the memory of your wife by neglecting your health and your child. I can teach him many things, but not how to be a Stilinski.”

John’s anger at the mention of dishonoring Claudia seems to dissipate at the reminder of being the last of his House. “That’s right, John. Would you prefer your legacy squandered from ill management while the scraps go to the cadet branches? Drink the damned tea, and spend time with your son without avoiding his eyes. One day, you’ll be grateful for how much he resembles her.”

 _This_ is why Talia still prefers to send Peter for diplomatic visits, and the only reason she regrets the marriage to Stiles. Soon all of Peter’s talents will only be for the advantage of House Stilinski. He can recognize the fault lines of an individual. He can finesse and nudge at the precise spots to cause the correct reactions. In the service of his future husband and mate, Peter will use all of his wiles without compunction - even against his future father by law, a man he greatly respects.

He stands in preparation to leave the older man to his contemplation. “Please think about what I said while you drink your tea. Perhaps you should keep that letter until you’re more like your old self.”

“Thank you, Peter-- _son_. I’ll talk to Stiles tomorrow.”

“See that you do. Good night, John.”

 

* * *

 

_Stiles,_

_I would never laugh at you over a serious matter. You should have realised this by now. I am your mate, and I will support you through any endeavor - large or small. At the time I warned Scott, you needed careful handling. He is hardly known for being discerning or talented with his words. I only suggested he might want to watch his tongue… the consequences were hardly dire, but I may have implied that someone would inform Healer McCall of just who ate the elderberries intended for her cough syrup._

_You will always be my chiefest concern. The months immediately following her death, you were a wisp of your former self. Your father and I have a right to our concerns._

_Lay your worries to rest, dear boy. Your father will live to a ripe old age, and he will teach you everything you need to know regarding the traditions of your great Name. We’ve enjoyed a nice cup of chamomile every evening for the last week, and I have no reasons to believe that this habit will be discontinued._

_In fact, this very evening, he swore to me that he’d spend time with you tomorrow - today now, as you should be asleep instead of reading this missive._

_Stiles, I will always solve your problems, or die in the attempt. You need only offer me the opportunity._

_Your servant,_  
_Peter_

 

 

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The in-between years in letters.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is still irregular grammar in Stiles' letters to Peter. I was asked about the ellipses, but I chose to leave them because I used them in physical letters when I was his age.
> 
> In a change from the last chapter, only Peter's letters will be in italics.
> 
> I really did think that I could finish this last month, but that is clearly not the case. I'm still struggling with chapter 3, so I decided to polish and post this even though the last chapter is almost completely unwritten. Expect a long wait for the last chapter as it will be the longest, and I'm easily distracted by other projects.
> 
>    
>  **Content notes at the end as well as citations**

 

From then on, Peter is inundated with messages from Stiles. He finds them on his desk, under his pillow, in coat pockets, and on a few memorable occasions he’s directed by a tearful Stiles to check his saddlebags. The messages are long and short, written on every material from fine sheets of parchment or torn foolscap to the linen napkins from dinner.

He writes to Peter with an easy enthusiasm and an absence of shame that he sometimes lacks in face to face encounters. Despite his best efforts, something in the boy is still wounded by the months of silence between the two. Peter does his best to be present and attentive, to let Stiles know that he won’t be abandoned again. Perhaps one day, when it won’t embarrass Stiles, Peter will tell him about the pile of letters accumulating in a box in the bottom of the wardrobe.

 

* * *

 

 

Dear Peter,

Thank you for talking to Da. He's been much better lately. It's been a whole month since he woke up with a sore head!!!

Is it silly to call you my hero? Because you are.

Love,  
Stiles

 

* * *

 

 

Dear Peter,

I’ve been having nightmares again. Can you stay with me tonight? I promise to share the blankets and not accidentally kick you.

Love,  
Stiles

 

* * *

 

 

Dear Peter,

I don’t know how to tell Scott that I’m ready to be friends again. I know that you don’t get along very much, but I need your help before Isaac steals him forever. He’s still upset about what I said when I found out what happened to Derek, but they dishonored House Hale AND House Stilinski by what Kate did since Derek is marrying my cousin soon. Scott didn’t see how much it hurt Paige, and Derek was always nice to me.

Derek said that WE could have been betrothed instead! I never knew it could have been Derek or Laura. You should tell me more stories about when I was a baby… even if that means you tell me about Mama. I’m almost twelve now. Da said that I’m nearly a man. I can do things even if they’re hard or scary. As long as I have you.

Love,  
Stiles

 

* * *

 

 

Dear Peter,

I very much enjoyed our outing yesterday. It’s been too long since we spent time with Petra. And then we had rabbit pie! Would you object to having poultry pies at our wedding feast? Perhaps some apple pastries along with the cake? Is it awful that I want to make sure that’s all Jackson is served or would that be too obvious?

Your future husband,  
Stiles

 

* * *

 

 

Dear Peter,

Thank you.

Love,  
Stiles

 

* * *

 

 

Dear Peter,

You are cordially invited to come sliding with S. K. Stilinski and S. McCall in the freshly waxed 3rd drawing room at the fifth bell. Please wear your thickest pair of old socks. Be on time, or we reserve the right to begin without you.

Love,  
Stiles

 

* * *

 

 

Peter,

Please leave me alone. I don't want to talk to you.

Stiles

 

* * *

 

 

Dear Stupid Head,

You are an idiot of the highest order if you think that I don’t want to marry you. I’ve known Heather since I was in nappies, and you’ve known her just as long. She knows that I’m promised to you. She only gave me a kiss on the cheek. You didn’t need to be angry and storm off like a bear with a sore paw.

I don’t want Heather or Lydia or Derek or Sir Parrish or anyone else. You are the first one I go to when I’m sad or angry or scared or happy, or for no reason at all. You’ve always been dear to me -- as dear to me as my parents, but in a very different way. I grew up knowing that we’d be friends and that later… later we would be more.

You are the one that I want. My werewolf husband. I love you as more than a child loves a friend or a sibling or an older brother or uncle. I love you the way I should love someone I want to marry. Even though I’m only thirteen, I can’t imagine the coming years without you by my side.

You had better prepare a disgustingly excessive apology for nearly RUINING my nameday and storming out in front of everyone. You promised to never give Jackson a reason to make fun of me. Growling at me and Heather before running away like a coward absolutely qualifies as a reason to make fun of Stiles AND his future husband.

I never want to hear you say that I’ll regret you when I’m older. I could never regret you, Peter. You have been my one constant for nearly my entire life. One day, maybe I can be yours… the way my parents were to each other.

All of my love,  
Stiles

P.S. Maybe you could show me what kissing is like before Heather tries again. As my mate, I want you to be the one to teach me.

 

* * *

 

 

Dear Peter,

Are you sure that’s how kissing works? Nothing happened except you touched your lips to mine. Aren’t we supposed to move more? I heard that there were tongues touching, but that sounds disgusting and very wet. I saw Sir Parrish kissing someone in the stables, and it looked very different from what we did.

We should wait until I'm older so that you can learn more about kissing. Next time will be better.

Love,  
Stiles

 

***

 

Peter!!!

It’s possible that I may have broken the new pendulum clock that Da installed in the library. I was only attempting to time the pendulum swings for variations, but I learned that it dislikes being touched. Now it no longer swings... as such. I know it cost a lot of money. How furious do you think he’ll be?

Love,  
Stiles

P.S. Do you think I can believably point the finger at someone more deserving of punishment? Or perhaps he'll be convinced that it broke on its own? Nobody saw me in there. I think?

P.P.S. **HELP**.

 

* * *

 

 

Dear Peter,

That was not quite what I expected when I asked for help, but thank you? How did you even get a bird to nest in it without anyone noticing?

Love,  
A confused but grateful Stiles

 

* * *

 

 

My Peter,

What made you think that I would allow anyone to call you such awful things? In our home. In front of us.

There is not a person alive who is allowed to say a word against you, Peter. Not in my hearing, and not out of it. You are more important than diplomacy with some blowhards. Besides, no one likes Lord McCall. Not even Scott or his mother. Especially when he attends important social functions while drunk and dishonors their House by insulting allies.

I don’t know why you’re so surprised. Or upset. It’s not as though you don’t have the same policy about me. Did you really think that I don’t know what happened with the twin from the Blackwood pack? I know you’ve been mocked and challenged about the agreement to mate me, a human boy. I’m sorry to cause you so much trouble, but… you seem to believe that I’m worth it.

You are, too. Ensuring your happiness is the opposite of a problem for me. That's how it should be for us. Watching my parents taught me that. Mama would have been furious if I had let anyone mistreat you. She always told me that out of all of the Hales she was glad it was you.

Love,  
Stiles

 

* * *

 

 

_Stiles,_

_I appreciate your spirited debate with Lord McCall on my behalf. Although I must admit, it’s certainly not the first that I’ve been called a mindless beast driven by inhuman lust. Nor is it the first time that someone has questioned my interest in a child. I expect that it will not be the last I hear either claim, but I would have spared you the knowledge of such vulgar talk._

_Have I done you a disservice by my persistence in treating you as a child? I begin to think that I have. That night I saw you as a young man - someone who was born to be my equal and my match in all things. Though it was hardly necessary to escort McCall from the estate, I can not fault your decision._

_Before you wonder: I am not offended by your actions. I know others might disagree, but I am no less a man. I remain undiminished by allowing you, my promised mate, to shield me with your Name and your words. Any man or woman who can not comprehend that fact is poor indeed. How could I feel anything but warmth and affection for one who holds me in such high esteem?_

_Always,_  
_Peter_

_P.S. Should McCall hold to his agreement, I shall treasure his written apology - however grudging - until the end of my days._

 

* * *

 

 

Dear Peter,

We’re not getting married for two years. Not even two years since it’s not my nameday yet. Please make them all stop. It is Too Early to plan the ceremony, and I don’t care about all of the details. As long as I don’t need to wait for you naked in the woods or fight wild animals.

Please tell me that Derek was kidding about the naked moonlit ritual where I eat raw rabbit hearts.

I changed my mind. I care very much about the ceremony, and you are officially in charge of protecting my interests in this Very Important matter.

Love,  
Stiles

 

* * *

 

 

Dear Peter,

I’m very excited to be at your family’s estate for my nameday (especially because it means no Jackson), but why does your family keep touching me and my clothes? Is it because other packs will be here? Strange werewolves keep sniffing me, and it’s very off-putting. Are they supposed to be sniffing me? I thought about asking Talia or your mother, but they’re a little bit scary. They have entirely too many teeth when they smile. You’re much better at smiles that hide how dangerous you are. Or maybe it’s because I’m in love with you.

I… I know I’ve told you that before, but it feels different the older I am. The closer we are to my coming of age. It’s only two years now.

You have shown me every kindness and consideration due your future mate and husband, but I have moments when I can’t help but wonder if you would have preferred someone older. It must be strange to think about how you were practically my nurse when I was small. You helped raise me, but I never thought of you as a parent. I hope you never thought of me as your child. I don’t think you did, but you’re a hard fellow to read.

It is patently obvious that you care for me very much, or you would never have promised to solve my troubles or die in the attempt (though I’d much rather you stay alive please). I am not asking you to return my feelings yet. I am not asking you to want me as you would want your husband. I am asking if you believe that you could do either of those in our future together.

Love always,  
Stiles

 

* * *

 

 

_Stiles,_

_I have been remiss if you must wonder about the nature of my regard for you._

_Never worry that I will fail to love you or desire you when we are wed. From the moment you were born, you have overtaken my world. There was nothing until you._

_A few nights ago, I was reminded of you while reading a new volume of poetry._

“I do not love you as if you were salt-rose, or topaz,  
or the arrow of carnations the fire shoots off.  
I love you as certain dark things are to be loved,  
in secret, between the shadow and the soul.

I love you as the plant that never blooms  
but carries in itself the light of hidden flowers;  
thanks to your love a certain solid fragrance,  
risen from the earth, lives darkly in my body.

I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where.  
I love you straightforwardly, without complexities or pride;  
so I love you because I know no other way

than this: where I does not exist, nor you,  
so close that your hand on my chest is my hand,  
so close that your eyes close as I fall asleep.

_You are still too young, but when you are older I’ll teach you what it means. I’ll teach you everything you want to know about passion. I’ll show you all the ways your body will bend to me. All the things it will do because I am the one touching you, my sweet boy._

_I want to do with you what spring does with the cherry trees._

_Your servant,_  
_Peter_

_P.S. I hope my declaration doesn’t frighten you, but this is the truth. You are my world._

 

* * *

 

 

Dear Peter,

I don’t blame you at all for my confusion. You have played the gentleman with me for years. Isn’t it past time you treated me as your equal or close to it?

I’ll admit that your response was not what I expected, but it was everything that I hoped it would be. I thought it deserved an appropriately poetic reply.

“My body is a palimpsest  
under your hands,  
a papyrus scroll  
unfurled beneath you,  
waiting for your mark.  
I clean my skin,  
scrape it back to  
a pale parchment,  
so that your touch  
can sink as deep  
as the tattooist’s ink...

You are all that’s  
written on my body.”

I look forward to your tutelage. Maybe if you kiss me again I’ll enjoy it this time.

Love,  
Your Stiles

 

* * *

 

 

_My Stiles,_

_You have been a constant source of joy and amusement to me once you were old enough to develop your own personality. You are an endless delight to me as you grow older._

_I take great pride in the role I had in the man you are becoming, but I look forward to the time when I will be your advisor and help-meet rather than your teacher. I find the imbalance between us distasteful._

_Yes, I will kiss you. I will kiss you everyday at every bell or as often as you like, but if you want a less chaste experience you’ll need to wait. I have no desire for your father to horse whip me for despoiling your virtue._

_Always,_  
_Peter_

 

* * *

 

 

 

Dear Peter,

It makes me happy that we’ve been able to speak freely on paper or face to face. I know that after she died, you and Da were afraid that I wouldn’t recover my ability to babble endlessly or to speak my mind without fear. These letters were only meant to help while I was unable to speak, but they have taken on a new meaning for me (and I think you too).

Because of our letters, we’ve grown closer than ever in the months since my confession (which was my goal, so I’m delighted by my success).

It’s been some time since I shared a poem with you, but my feelings from last night are almost exactly described here:

“And when I left you, I was so on fire  
with all your brilliant and ironic humor  
that after dinner I was still excited,  
and sleep refused to touch my eyes with quiet.  
In bed and totally unstrung by passion,  
tossing in agony, I prayed for sunrise,  
when I could be with you in conversation.  
But when my limbs, exhausted by their labor,  
lay on the bed in nearly fatal stillness,  
I made this poem for you, my beloved,  
so you could take the measure of my sorrow.”

I look forward to every conversation.

Love,  
Stiles

P.S. When will I be old enough?

 

* * *

 

 

Dear Peter,

I take back every complaint. I will deny all of the disappointingly chaste kisses from before. This was my first, and it was worth the long months you denied me.

There are so many other things I want to try. I want to know what it’s like to be touched by someone else, but I know your answer (I’ve heard it often enough). When I’m older.

It seems that we’re always waiting for me to be older. I’m trying to catch up as quickly as I can, but time is no man’s servant. Not even yours.

Are you ever as impatient as I am? You are always so controlled and responsible with me. At times I’d like to see what would happen if you lost a little bit of your restraint. You’ve been waiting much longer than me. How do you stand it?

We still have a year and a season before our wedding, but I might die if you don’t touch me. Soon, Peter. Please say you’ll touch me. Just a little.

I do mean only a little. Despite what I just wrote you, I know I’m not prepared for very much more than kisses, no matter what I want in the heat of the moment when we’re together. You’re very good at kissing (I was a fool when I said you needed to learn more). I guess that’s what your cousin really meant at my party when she asked if I was enjoying your “talented mouth”. At the time, I thought she meant your ability to talk your way out of trouble. Now that I look back on our conversation, I was rather oblivious to all the references to your “silver tongue” and “oral abilities”. I won’t ask why your cousin knows anything about how or whom you kiss… for now.

But all joking aside, I trust you to know when we should stop. Yes, I do trust you know my mind better than I do. You always have before. Why should this be any different?

Love,  
Stiles the impatient

 

* * *

 

 

Dear Peter,

You tell me that waiting is sweet, but I think you are a liar, Sir. Or maybe you enjoy torturing your Promised?

This is all I have to say:

“You are the one  
I am lit for.  
Come with your rod  
that twists  
and is a serpent.  
I am the bush.  
I am burning  
I am not consumed.”

I don’t know how much more of this I can bear. The way you push me aside when I need more. The way you always wind the tension higher and higher and stop before either of us are relieved. Every time you deny me I could weep with frustration.

Everyone knows why I’ve been asking for buckets of cold water to fill my bath. I told Scott that I fear I’ll never feel warm water again.

You are killing me.

Love,  
Stiles

 

* * *

 

 

_My Stiles,_

_It was never my intention to torture you beyond your endurance, but I hesitate to trespass against the boundaries set by your father. Please believe me when I say:_

_“..._ much as I’d love to be the silk-shimmer

against the curve of anyone’s arm,  
as brutal and impeccable as it’d be to soar  
from a crossbow with a whistle and have a man

switch off upon my arrival, it is nothing  
compared to that moment when I eat the dark,  
draw shadows in quick strokes across wall

and start a tongue counting  
down to thunder. That counting that says,  
I am this far. I am this close.”

_Soon, my love. I swear it._

_Faithfully yours,_  
_Peter_

 

* * *

 

 

Dearest Peter,

You are my first thought when I wake, and my last as I fall asleep. And in all the times between my mind is still full of you. Lately, I think most about the poems we have exchanged - especially the first.

Almost one year ago, you said you wanted to do with me what spring does with the cherry trees. I want that, too. More than you can know. It’s increasingly harder every morning that I wake without you near. Yes. I know that was terribly unsubtle wordplay, but you love me despite my shortcomings and childish jokes.

I know that we are not yet wed. I know that you must obey my father’s arbitrary decree... but I’m tired of only kisses. I want you to show me everything my body can do. Show me everything that my body will do because it’s **you** touching me.

You promised me soon, so I take you at your word. All I want for my fifteenth nameday is to know what it feels like for you, my mate, to touch my cock until I come - with you. Do you think you can do that for me, Peter?

Eagerly awaiting your reply,  
Your Stiles

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Content notes:** Once Stiles turns 14, the nature of the letters becomes rather sexually charged. Nothing actually happens "on screen", but you can infer from the letters that some very underage kissing is happening as well as sexual touching. 
> 
> To clarify: they kiss but no genitals are touched. There are no orgasms. This all happens after Stiles turns 14.
> 
> The last chapter will include sex acts between an adult and a 15 year old. Stiles will be 16 when he's married. They will then consummate that marriage. Stop here or imagine that he's older if you don't like underage.  
>  
> 
> **The poems in order of their appearance:**
> 
> Sonnet XVII by Pablo Neruda - complete  
> Love poem XIV by Pablo Neruda - the last line "I want to do with you what spring does with the cherry trees."  
> Tattoo by Nuala Ní Chonchúir - Complete except for the removal of three lines  
> Poem 50 by Catullus as translated by Charles Martin - an excerpt  
> To a Dark Moses by Lucille Clifton - Complete though I altered the original capitalization.  
> Hum for the Bolt by Jamaal May - an excerpt


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for taking so long. Also sorry that it's still not done. But hey! I'm still alive and thinking about this fic. It has not been abandoned.

Peter does nothing to disabuse Stiles of the notion that his nameday present was an addition to the Stilinski’s mews. At the revelation, he acts appropriately excited, but Peter can sense the disappointment over the perceived lack of reply to such a passionate, vulnerable request. It _almost_ compels him to spoil the surprise, but good things come to those who wait, and he does so enjoy reminding his boy of the fact.

The visitors have all departed or retired to their beds when he walks Stiles to his room for the night, letting the excited chatter wash over him in a comforting wave until they reach their destination. When Stiles opens his door and turns his face up for the customary kiss, it gives him a jolt to realise that despite Stiles’ slim build, he’s almost reached Peter’s height. They’re nearly equal in body, and the rest will follow soon enough. 

Looming close, he grins. “I think you asked for a good deal more than a kiss.”

With werewolf quickness, Peter tugs Stiles into the room and very carefully tosses him onto the bed. Almost immediately after turning the latch, he’s pressing the lithe, young body of his mate into the mattress and giving sharp nips to the lush mouth responsible for his all-day distraction.

“Did you think I wouldn’t give you your present, darling boy?” he asks heatedly. “All you ever need to do is ask, and you’ll have it from me. You know I could never deny you.”

Under the onslaught of sucking bites, Stiles bucks and moans until he succeeds in stopping Peter with a sloppy, open-mouthed kiss. It’s graceless and untutored; it’s perfection incarnate.

"You promised to make me feel good," he gasps against Peter's lips. "I want you to fuck me all the time. I'm always so hard for you. Teach me _everything_... then I can show you what I learned."

"As always, you make a compelling argument," Peter murmurs as he trails his hands through the light dusting of hair at his boy's stomach then deftly unfastens both of their breeches. Stiles reclines on the bed in gorgeous disarray. He seems oblivious to the fact that his erection is exposed to the air and brushing against Peter's length with every heaving breath. Out of sheer excitement, the blackness of Stiles’ pupils nearly eclipses the usual tawny color of his eyes. Peter ducks his head close to nuzzle at the soft body, bare for his pleasure. His boy’s unsteady heartbeat and sudden gasp for breath is the sweetest music. 

He pulls back and smirks. It’s the wolf in him that revels in the way Stiles shivers and pants for the slightest of touches. It satisfies something deep inside when Stiles can’t pull his gaze from the way Peter takes his own fingers into his mouth and leisurely laves at the palm, covering his hand in spit. "Next time we'll use something better, but tonight this shall be adequate for our purposes."

Then Peter wraps that wet hand around both of their erections, grinding them together. He pulls slowly, adding the slightest twist at the end. It's a nearly unbearable tease for both of them, but he wants the first time someone else touches Stiles so intimately to burn itself into his consciousness, an indelible experience. He wants his little mate to be utterly certain that _Peter_ is the only one who can make him feel pleasure like this.

The rough drag of his palm as he fists their cocks dances on the edge of too much and not enough friction. He jerks them harder, faster, mindlessly chasing their pleasure until Stiles sobs out his completion. As soon as the scent of his mate’s semen hits his nose, Peter’s eyes flash bright gold. Stiles shudders anew at the sight, and he smothers a wail by biting down onto Peter’s shoulder. It’s the bright spark of pain of dull, human teeth in his flesh that breaks Peter’s control. With a snarl, he peaks, adding to the mess already coating his hand.

Lazily, he brings his hand to his mouth to lap at the combined fluids, but he stops short at the familiar curiosity replacing the look of satiation on Stiles’ face. 

Oh, his adorable mate is _breathtaking_. “Do you want to taste it, too?” he purrs.

A flush suffuses the boy’s fine features, but he answers clearly. “Yes, please.”

“Very well.” Peter allows his hand to hover directly above those pretty, kiss-swollen lips he loves. He waits patiently for Stiles to marshall his weak limbs into taking the sticky hand between both of his and fleetingly swipe his tongue against the callous-free palm.

Stiles hums in contemplation. “It’s not what I expected.” He licks slower this time. “Salty? A little bitter?” He sucks hard at the palm. “It’s a bit like when Scott dared me to lick soap, but better?” 

“Like soap but better,” Peter deadpans. “It’s fortunate for you that I am assured of my own worth, darling. Should I finish cleaning without your help?”

“No, Peter! It’s not _bad_.” Stiles clutches protectively at the hand and glances up through the thick fringe of his lashes. “I like it,” he adds shyly.

“That’s my good boy.”

“Are you going to stay the night with me?” His mate is a soft weight draped across his chest as he drowsily sucks his fingers clean of their combined release. Stiles’ natural scent has been covered over with Peter’s, entwined until there’s no separating them. Peter wants to keep him like this forever: happy, sated, and in his arms.

He smiles at Stiles’ laziness and wrestles the boy’s limp body under the coverlet, tucking him into his side—safe and shielded. “Nothing would make me happier.”

* * *

_My Stiles,_

_You were exceptional, as always—ever a bright and attentive pupil._

_I look forward to seeing you again, darling boy. Banish all thoughts that I would not—could not—desire you as you desire me. You are lovely to me at all times. Yes, even covered in muck. At the peak of your pleasure, you are stunning beyond compare. You could never disappoint me, Stiles._

I love the handful of the earth you are.  
Because of its meadows, vast as a planet,  
I have no other star. You are my replica  
of the multiplying universe  
Your wide eyes, are the only light I know  
from extinguished constellations;  
your skin throbs like the streak  
of a meteor through rain.  
Your hips were that much of the moon for me;  
your deep mouth and its delights, that much sun;  
your heart, fiery with its long red rays,  
was that much ardent light, like honey in the shade.  
So I pass across your burning form, kissing  
you - compact and planetary, my dove, my globe.  
__

_Once our visitors are no longer underfoot, infesting the halls, would you do me the honor of accompanying Petra and me on a hunt?_

_Always Yours,  
Peter_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter, Peter and Stiles go hunting.
> 
> The poem is Sonnet XVI by Pablo Neruda.
> 
> Thank you for looking this over, [Bones](http://archiveofourown.org/users/bonesofbirdwings).

**Author's Note:**

> This is much more fluffy than I normally write. Please let me know if there are any questions regarding the background of this world. I have a lot that never made it onto the page.
> 
> As usual, tell me if you spotted any typos or mistakes. Thanks for reading.


End file.
